Look At Me
by lullabyemyuu
Summary: I want ark-building rain. I want flood rain. I want relentless rain that washes everything away. The sort of rain that promises you that, after everything is gone, the storms will lead you home. Spamano and one-sided Prumano


_a/n Here's a rather angst-ladden one-shot I've been meaning to write for awhile. The pairins are Spamano and one-sided Prumano._

Worthless. Sometimes I believe I am absolutely worthless. I am not even a nation anymore, so why am I still here? Why do I still exist? Why did I not fade away like Byzantium or go out in one final blaze of glory like Rome?

I never asked for this shattered existence, this half-life. I don't want to live in a world where most people don't know my name and those who do associate me with Nazism and the horrors committed during the Second World War.

I am not accepted by my fellow nations any longer. Even World Meetings are off limits to me because I have nothing to say. I have no voice in international affairs any longer. Though I can speak, no one listens. Though I can breath, no one cares. Not even my own friends. And especially not _him._

It's raining today.

The kind of rain that makes you want to dance and kiss and hug and love. The kind of rain that caresses your face with its moist fingers and pecks your cheek like a sweet old aunt.

I don't want this kind of rain. I want ark-building rain. I want flood rain. I want relentless rain that washes everything away. The sort of rain that promises you that, after everything is gone, the storms will lead you home.

But there is no trace of lightning in my garden. Only _them. _They think that no one is watching them; kissing and cuddling out there like teenagers on their first date. With blood-red eyes I watch them hold each other's faces, whispering heated "I love you"s into the warm spring air.

Romano and Spain. Spain and Romano. Never apart, they're a package deal. Always have been, always will. They've made their own little perfect world of passion and fire and never ending love.

I, obviously, am not allowed in their little world. I invited Romano over for lunch and this is what happens. This is what _always _happens. To them, I don't exist.

I wonder if you know how painful it is to be forgotten by the one you love.

I am in love with Romano. Hopelessly, madly in love. Sure his brother is cute but Romano . . . Romano is _gorgeous_. He has fire in his heart, something rarely seen in this new world of peace treaties and olive branches.

Being with Romano, seeing Romano . . . he makes me feel as if I was an empire again. He makes me feel _alive. _He remembers when everyone forgets. Instead of passing me by, he always engaged me in playful banter (at least I hope it was playful) and his sharp tongue kept me on my toes.

At least until Spain made his move. I really should have seen it coming. I really should've known that Romano loved Spain and not me. Hell, he can barely tolerate my presence.

But it almost broke me and I don't know if I can ever forgive Spain for taking something so precious away.

After all these years, however, it seems I have little choice. I've matured enough to realize that there's a _reason _Romano loves Spain and not me. Spain makes him feel perfect and loved. Spain lavishes affections upon him and treats him like something precious. I don't think I could do that. At least not to the extent Spain does.

There's something you should know about me. _I am broken. _I am ragged. History has not been kind to me. I was not made for this time period. I was fabricated for a time of horses and blood and steel. Not bombs. Not gas. This kind of warfare has shattered me and put me back together again in a way so that my mind barely resembles anything close to what Spain is. I will never be so kind and caring. I _can't._

So I will suffer seeing the most precious and wonderful thing in my world be happy with someone else. It kills me I can't share in my best friend's joy.

There's something wrong with me. I know it. Because sometimes, when I'm watching them all I want to do is grab Romano by the face and force him to look at me. I want to _make _him love me, however wrong that sounds. I want to steal him away from Spain, even though I know Spain would loose the will to live if he lost his precious little Romano.

I want to let him know that I understand things that Spain doesn't. I want to let him know that I can sympathize with being the unappreciated elder brother. I know how it feels to be not-quite-a-nation. I know how it feels to want to disappear.

But I won't. I love him too much to let him know I love him, if that makes any sense. He has heart, underneath all that swearing. And knowing that someone loves you when there's no hope of you ever loving them back is a heavy burden to bear.

Sometimes it's okay to pretend. Sometimes it's okay to pretend you're a warrior who knows no fear.

The door opens and Spain and Romano come waltzing in, smiling and blushing, hair slicked down with rain. I look at their entwined hands and my stomach lurches painfully.

"Why did you come in?" I ask, trying to keep the weariness out of my voice.

Romano walks over to my window and points out. "You blind, bastard? You've been staring out the window for the past half-hour.

I follow his hand and blink in surprise to see hat the light sprinkling has turned into a downpour. _Ark-building rain. _It pours down in thick sheets and splashed against the glass. Was I really that absorbed in my thoughts that I didn't notice?

Romano turns away, brushing his hand over my hair accidentally as he heads back into Spain's embrace. The gesture, however small and however meaningless, is immeasurably cruel. Not that Romano will ever know.

I sigh and turn away to stare once more at the rain, wishing that maybe it'd just wash my whole house away.

_Someday the storms will lead you home._

Xxx

The next time Romano came to visit, Prussia's house was still there. Prussia wasn't.


End file.
